Mission: WINE
by IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: Darcy should've known better than to get distracted at an Avengers' press conference.


"...what's the best part of being an Avenger?"

Darcy hears the question, knowing what's coming even before the woman utters her inane pretense of an inquiry, and tries to hold back the groan threatening to force its way out of her mouth. God, was it so difficult to formulate a fucking question that hadn't been asked a thousand times before? What did the woman expect Clint to answer, anyway?

But no, Darcy knows exactly what Claudia-with-the-nice-hair wants — it doesn't take a genius to figure it out, really, it's stamped all over her perfect face. She's leaning forward in her seat, looking like the picture of the attentive listener, a whole lot of cleavage being shown, her eyes glued to Clint's biceps… It was all very standard procedure in any Avengers' press conference. The journalists climbing over each other, trying to be noticed, to be heard, to make a statement, to have just a hint of interest, to be desired. After all, who didn't want to be the one to snatch a superhero?

Darcy is tired of it. She's done the whole superhero thing, and it turned out to be way less enjoyable than what she had thought it would be. Darcy almost died a couple of times, saw too much of the worst side of the universe and lived to tell her tale. In her head, there's no time to play catch-the-hottie during work hours. The problem, however, is that this is her fucking job, and if she wants to pay her goddamn rent, then she'll have to endure another hour of bored-to-death Avengers and hungry-as-the-wolves journalists.

She hates that this is where she wound up. When she left Jane working for SI two years ago, the plan had been simple: go back, get her damn diploma, get a job, get a life. Somehow, it all went terribly wrong. One moment she had her degree in her hands, and the next moment, Darcy realizes how useless it is and how unprepared she truly is for the struggles of living in New York City by herself.

Turns out adult life is a lot more tedious when you're not fighting for every breath.

So she gets a job. Darcy gets a boring job as a third-class fashion journalist, ignoring the fact that she's neither a professional of the area or interested in fashion in any shape or form. Darcy's always been good at expert bullshit, and she likes to believe she has a decent sense of humor, so she makes it work as best as she knows how — living off her ridiculous salary and trying not to die of sheer boredom.

To be completely honest, Darcy doesn't even know why she's in this press conference, to begin with. They are super-heroes, not fucking models — what's she supposed to write about? Their uniforms?

So, yeah, it's all pretty fucking annoying and irritating, and Darcy is counting the minutes until Pepper Potts gets tired of this shit and call it quits, silently wondering if anybody would notice if she played Candy Crush on her phone in the meanwhile. Clint's in the middle of an answer, impressively speaking a lot and yet not saying a single word, when the loudest goddamn noise comes from the end of the room, making all of them jump off their chairs.

Darcy covers her mouth with her hand, hoping no one heard the embarrassing noise she just uttered, turning around in her chair, only to see James Barnes, who had, apparently, kicked the door open. He's standing right there, wearing all black, the muzzle covering the bottom part of his face, and with a ginormous rifle in his hands.

The noises from the door jolt the journalists from their previous sleep, and the cameras go mad, clicking and flashing, a hundred questions bursting from their lips, all of them eager to get the full scoop. Darcy follows Barnes' line of sight and sees Steve Rogers giving his best '_I'm-disappointed-in-you_' look, exuding disapproval.

When Barnes fails to do anything, Rogers exhales. "Really, Buck?" He asks, somehow making his voice be heard over the shouts going around.

Suddenly, the vultures shut their mouth, more interested in whatever response Barnes will give to his fellow Avenger.

Barnes only shrugs, though, so Rogers presses: "Bucky."

It's all he says, and surprisingly, it's enough, 'cause Barnes rolls his eyes, but dutifully takes the muzzle off and makes his way across the room to the table, bypassing the journalists without a second glance, the proverbial sea parting for him much as it did for Moises.

He walks until he stands in front of Rogers, though, making no further move to get into the right side of the table. Darcy cannot help but notice that Barnes' ass looks amazing in that tight pant. "Geez, Steve, kill my buzz, will you?" He whines, placing the muzzle on Rogers' waiting hands. When the other raises an eyebrow, he hands over the rifle as well.

"C'mon, we talked about this," Captain Crunch-my-head-between-your-thighs says, although he barely sounds concerned about the whole incident, looking quite adoringly at the soldier, his stupid blue eyes shining with fondness.

"As if I'm about to leave you unprotected in a room full of strangers."

"They are reporters, Buck."

Barnes grumbles something under his breath.

Pepper tries to get control over the room once more, but a man screams over her.

"Is there reason to believe Captain America is in danger, Sergeant Barnes?"

Barnes zooms in on him instantly, eyes sharp and searching, losing all the precious lick of easiness he had plastered onto his disturbingly handsome face. Seriously, how does a guy look so hot with his hair covering most of his face? And what was the deal with that metal arm and why does Darcy want to lick it?

"Has he ever not been in danger?" Barnes questions, his body moving to shield Rogers from view almost casually.

"He is a super soldier," the man tries to reason, and although Darcy concedes that it is a good point, she also knows it's the wrong thing to say.

"And?" Barnes presses, leaning his upper body forward. "Not like that means anything."

Pepper is murmuring something to Stark, probably trying to figure out how to get the show back on track, and Sam looks pained at the aggressiveness. Clint looks like Christmas came early, watching the whole thing with a wide smile stretching his face and elbowing Romanov to get her attention. Rogers, though. Well, Rogers looks insulted.

"Excuse me," he says, frowning. "I can protect myself."

"Right, of course you can," Barnes agrees easily, but the sarcasm hangs heavy in the air, in sharp contrast to his words, and Darcy grips her chair hard enough to hurt.

The whole thing is better than a soap opera, and she only wishes had the presence of mind to keep her snorts to herself.

"Man, people go through security to get here," Sam says, sounding more than done with Barnes' bullshit.

"Is that so?" Barnes asks, curling his fingers. His sharp eyes scan the room. "Well, there's two people with a lighter in here," he begins, before pointing to a random man sitting near the front. "This one here has a bottle of deodorant in his back pocket, and…" His eyes land on Darcy. "She has a wine opener in the front right pocket of her jeans."

Darcy's hands instantly go to her pocket, where her brand new wine opener is hidden. "So? Is it a crime to want to go home and drink some wine after this?"

"Hell no. I'll soon be doing the same," Stark mumbles, loosening his tie.

"It's a possible weapon," Barnes says, unconcerned. He pauses. "I could kill everyone in this room with a wine opener."

There's a rush of questions from the people in the room after that, all of them wanting to know what he meant with the affirmation.

"Bucky!" Rogers calls out sharply, at the same time as Pepper hisses a pissed off "James!"

Only Darcy doesn't know when to quit, so she blurts out: "Before Rogers got to you?"

At that, Barnes tilts his head in consideration, studying the room. "He could get hurt in the process if everyone panicked," he says, as if that would be his only concern in that scenario.

Which makes Rogers go back to being offended. "You know what, that's just bullshit, Bucky."

"Language!" Stark and Clint scream at the same time, high-fiving over Romanov's head.

"I can't believe you're concerned about a wine opener," Rogers grumbles, then looks at Darcy. "She's 5'4'', Buck."

And that cannot stand.

"I'm 5'5''," Darcy corrects, crossing her arms over her chest. Well under, under her chest. "And don't you forget it, beefcake."

"I bet you a hundred dollars that Barnes will flip his shit if she comes close to Steve with that wine opener," Clint dares, looking at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

"He wouldn't," Rogers assures.

"Right," Sam deadpans. "No way. He's just so reasonable. He would never."

When Barnes says nothing, Rogers turns to him. "Well?"

"I would probably be fine with it," he assures, grabbing a hairband to tie his hair in a bun at the top of his head. And shit, he's just so hot. It's unfair to look both like a homicidal creep and a runaway model. It's confusing Darcy's brain.

"Probably?"

"Naw, man. Don't go there," Sam tries, but it's evident that Rogers is, indeed, going there.

Rogers looks at her. "Come here," he says, beckoning with a hand.

"Who? Me?" Darcy asks, although it's obvious that he's talking to her. "I don't think I'm up to being stabbed today. If that's cool with you, I'll just stay here."

"I wouldn't stab you," Barnes promises. Somehow, though, the way he says it; it's not reassuring. At all.

"Great. Sounds promising," Darcy says, and she must be crazy, 'cause she gets up, ignoring the whispers and flashes going around her, and walks to stand near the table. "Just to be clear: I bought this wine opener intending to use it to open my cheap bottle of wine. I didn't intend to get blood all over it."

"Good to know," Sam says snidely.

"Are you the one about to be assaulted by the crazy guy here? No? Then kindly shut the fuck up."

"UHHH!" Clint laughs. "Take that, copycat."

"Man, you wanna talk about that, how about I tell you—"

Rogers cuts him off. "What's your name?" He asks, reaching across the table to shove Barnes to the side a little so he could see her clearly.

"Darcy Lewis."

"You don't seem like a journalist," Barnes intones, running his eyes over her body.

Darcy puts both hands on her waist. "Is that so? What do I look like?"

Barnes' eyes meet hers. "Not a journalist," he purrs, a satisfied smile stretching his lips.

"I bet if I had my taser with me, you wouldn't be looking so damn pleased with yourself."

"I'm a super soldier."

Darcy shrugs. "Well, Thor's a god, so…"

"What?"

Clint whistles. "Hey, hot stuff. Not that this isn't entertaining, but can we please get to the part where you try to shove a wine opener through Cap's stomach?"

Darcy narrows her eyes at him, but then turns back to Barnes. "If I fish it out of my pocket, will you lunge?"

"Just do it."

"Dude, get someone to pay you for saying that," Darcy advises, sticking her hand into her pocket and grabbing the small wine opener.

"What?" Barnes asks, but his eyes go to the object in her hands instantly.

"Girl, you got robbed," Sam says. "You need to get yourself something better than that toy."

"You paying for that?" Darcy asks, pushing the curly metal part up.

"Someone ought to. That's just sad."

"Sam," Rogers interrupts, his eyes glued to Barnes, as if studying his reactions. He doesn't seem to like what he finds there, because his eyes narrow as they turn to face Darcy. "Come at me."

"...bro," Darcy adds, 'cause she has to. She just has to.

Clint laughs, at least.

Deciding that she might as well, Darcy closes her fingers around the wine opener and jumps toward Rogers, aiming somewhere around his middle. Only she never leaves her spot. One second she's moving forward, the next she's got her face gently slammed onto the desk, her hand behind her back, feets being kicked apart.

"Told you!" Clint cheers, hitting the table with his hand.

"Are you kidding me?" Rogers snaps, and Darcy can hear the sound of his chair as he gets up. "Get off of her."

"Sorry," Barnes says, pulling her up just as fast as he had shoved her down, taking the wine opener from her hands. "I better hold on to this."

"Are you for real? This is mine. I paid for it."

"Well—"

"Buck, give it back. You can't—"

"You know," Clint says, hands resting behind his head. "This is the best press conference of my life."

"—I'm not breakable, Buck. She's a civilian. An untrained civilian, at that."

"What? Was I supposed to just watch?"

"YES!" All the other Avengers literally scream together.

Barnes pouts. "Well, that's just dangerous. That's all."

"Whatever. I still want my stuff back," Darcy says. "It's not my fault that you're kind of crazy."

"Nuh uh." Barnes shakes his head. "It's forbidden in here. I confiscated."

_He did not just say that._

Oh, that means business. "Don't make me hurt you."

"I think we just proved that you can't, actually," he says, and it's so fucking smug and knowing, as though he's trying to imply that he can read her mind, or whatever, and that he has Darcy all figured out. And you know what? Fuck that.

Darcy is good at improvisation, at handling crazy stuff and doing the best she can with it, so, although she should just walk away and save her dignity while she still has a strand left of it, she, instead, just throws all caution to the proverbial wind. Darcy jumps over the table — knocking over several mics and sending papers flying everywhere —, grabs a black pen that was in her reach, and lands on the other side, stepping behind Captain America while aiming a heavy, clearly expensive pen at his ribs.

[Ok, so maybe, maybe, she has no idea how one's supposed to jump over a damn table and ends up fucking over a bit along the way. Maybe she knocks her knee on the edge and hurts herself. Maybe she doesn't get enough impulse and has to crawl the rest of the way while people stare at her. Maybe she almost falls on her ass as she gets down. But it's fine. No one has to comment on any of that. Ever]

Does she have any idea on how to kill a man — let alone a super soldier — with a pen? No. Does she wish she had the height necessary to aim for the neck and look even remotely threatening? Yes. Was she quickly regretting everything with the way Romanov was glaring at her? Abso-_fucking_-lutely. Would she do the responsible thing and back down? No way. Never.

"What now?" She dares, pretending her voice isn't shaking, and she can't see the amused look Rogers is sending her way. Darcy keeps her eyes on Barnes, who looks so damn shocked is almost comical. "Your move, pretty fingers."

"Did she just threaten Captain America over a wine opener?" Clint whispers on her left.

"Did she just use a pen to do it?" Tony points out.

Rogers seems to like it, though, 'cause he leans back, making the pen dig at his side. "You better save me, Bucky. I'm feeling pretty unsafe here, you know. Who knows what this lady might to with me, hun? All it takes is one wrong move…"

Darcy nods, and if she leans the rest of the way, enjoying the feel of all those muscles against her skin, nobody has to know. She dares anyone to stand that close to that man and do a better job than her at keeping their pervert side in check. "Yeah, I can be pretty unpredictable. It's usually the lack of sugar in my bloodstream." A pause. "Wouldn't want me to hurt lil' old Cap here, now, would we?"

"Steve," he corrects, unfazed. "Given the circumstances and all."

"Oh, sure. Steve's good." Steve's amazing. Great. A true wonder. The 8th wonder of the world, for sure.

Suddenly, a flash explodes right in their faces, nearly blinding Darcy with the light, and the Avengers lose it a little. Darcy feels a strong arm pushing her behind Steve's back, there's a shout, followed by a groan of pain, then several people yelling and, over all that, Pepper Potts' voice announcing the end of the conference and asking security to remove all the journalists from the room.

"Shit," Darcy groans, rubbing her eyes. She just wasn't paid enough for this kind of bullshit, man. All she wanted was to attend this shitty press conference and go home to drink a whole bottle of wine and write another awful fashion article for the job that helps maintain her mild wine addiction.

Instead, she gets this: two nonagenarians super soldiers who were upsettingly gorgeous, but also nuts. Why do the pretty ones always have to have a few loose screws?

"Well, doll, you certainly know how to empty a room," Barnes jokes, suddenly right there beside her, a crooked smile tugging the right corner of his mouth up, and Darcy forgets to breathe for a long second there.

When she fails to respond, Steve turns, eyes sliding quickly from her to Barnes. "I think you might have broken her, pal."

At that, Darcy unfreezes. "Fuck you, old man. I can handle pretty fingers here."

"You already used that one, baby girl," Barnes says, smooth and easy. "No reuses — that's 'em rules."

"And who put you in charge of the rules, Buck?" Darcy asks, and the name slips, but Steve grins, bumping her shoulder, agreeing with her defiance, a look of camaraderie passing between them, and it's like the three of them are locked inside their own bubble.

Perhaps that's why it shocks her so much when, out of the blue, Bucky gets closer, grab her, and throws her over his right shoulder, keeping a firm arm around her thighs, his fucking hand spread open and coping a feel.

"Oi, RoboCop, buy me a muffin first," she says, watching Steve for any reaction. He ruffles her hair, not making a single move to help her. "You're a committed man. Can't just go grabbing people out of the blue, you know? And, besides, I get light-headed super quickly, okay? You don't know, but I can—"

Bucky taps her leg once and interrupts her. "Damn, doll. I heard humans need to breathe sometimes — you might want to try that."

"Buck, don't tease her," Steve says, and his blue eyes meet her, transmitting all the calm in the world, like he's not one bit worried about the entire situation, or the Avengers clearing the room around them, or the mess of a press conference, and perhaps that's why Darcy blurs out.

"Aren't you guys together?" She asks, twisting her neck to better see Steve, the words mumbled in her mouth even as she pushes them out.

They are walking, entering an elevator, the doors are closing, and Bucky answers: "Absolutely, doll," he says, tapping her leg again. "For you, though? We might just open a spot."

"We also have wine," Steve offers, trying to sell them to her, as though she might have been thinking of refusing them, and Darcy wants to pinch herself to see if this isn't some elaborate dream.

In the end, she ends up half-shrugging, slapping Bucky's perfect butt, and smiling.

"As long as there's wine…" She concedes, then glances at Bucky's free hand. "Hey! At least we already have an opener! That's what I would call a good alignment of plans."

* * *

Author's Note: I won't even. I've given up on this whole author's notes mess, man. I have nothing to say for myself — if you follow one of my many WIPs, forgive me for not updating, okay? I'm far too busy writing all these one-shots. Let's just go with the flow here.

Anyway! This is gonna be a series composed only by Avengers press conferences, because I think it would be hilarious to write them. I have a couple planned already, but if any of you guys want to leave some suggestions, I'm totally open to new ideas. I'm thinking about doing unusual couples, too — maybe — so I'm also open to preferences on that front. Xoxo.


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